"Where You Are, That's Where I Want to Be" - Adama/Roslin Fic
Title: Where You Are, That's Where I Want to Be
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: M
Word Count: 1,286 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
A/N: Written for larsfarm77 's birthday. She wanted something MA rated and angsty set around "The Hub." I failed a bit on the rating, but I hope that you enjoy it nonetheless. Thanks to redrockcan 's beta. I've taken some liberties with the BSG timeline for the sake of my own sanity.
“We’re going to get caught,” he pants as she straddles his hips and practically rips his tanks off of him.
“Do you care?” she counters. Her hair was a mess; tangled from when he had buried his hands in the amber strands, her lips were swollen from the kisses he had been waiting months to share with her.
“Uh…” he mumbles a half-reply as she nibbles along his jaw, her hands were tracing patterns across his chest and neck.
“Less talk, more action Bill,” she chides him.
“Is that a challenge Ms. Roslin?” he counters. His hands secure themselves on her hips.
“It’s an order actually,” she says. She isn’t the president anymore; technically, she can’t give him orders. They both chose to forget that minor detail. She barely has time to grin smugly at him before he flips them so that she is flat on her back, with him on his forearms right above her.
“Hi beautiful,” he offers shyly as he nudges her nose with his.
“You’re such a romantic,” she sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes and yet failing to subside the rumble of laughter bubbling up in her chest.
“I’ve never made love under the stars before,” he confesses into the tantalizing curves of her cleavage. “Always wanted to…”
She gasps as he tongue makes contact with her nipple through the thin fabric of her threadbare bra. “What gave you pause before?” she half moans, half whispers.
He places a chaste kiss right above her heart. “I hadn’t met you yet,” he answers truthfully.
When she falls asleep, Bill cradles her lithe form, resting her head against his heart.
His whispered words of love fill the silence around them; only the stars hear his confession.
He leaves for Galactica the next day.
He does not step foot on this planet ever again.
***
He finds her sitting on a gurney in sickbay, being treated for a few minor cuts and burns. The hallow look in her eyes speak of even deeper wounds, ones that cannot be mended as easily as her marked flesh.
He grips the side of her bed, needing something to ground him; he doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to see anyone, ever.
“Hi,” she says weakly. Her hands are trembling and her eyes are watering. “It’s exceptionally good to see you.”
His response is in the form of a kiss so sweetly innocent it breaks something in her and within moments she’s sobbing, yet laughing at the same time, while clutching the collar of his tunic. He holds her tightly, not yet able to believe that she’s actually alive and making a mess of his uniform.
“When Galactica fell out of the sky, Gods…I thought…don’t you ever do something that dangerous ever again,” she says as she tightens her grip on his tunic.
He doesn’t respond to her plea and she doesn’t push him.
He’s learned by now not to make promises that you can’t keep.
***
“Do you ever think that maybe we aren’t supposed to be together?”
Her question hits him like a ton of bricks. He lowers his report and grants her his full attention.
“What makes you say that?” he asks evenly. It’s the first time that they’ve talked about them since the day of his wedding anniversary.
“The first time we tried this, you were banished from New Caprica and then the Cylons invaded. Now, I’m dying again,” she laughs bitterly, “maybe we’re just not meant to be?”
It’s the doloxin talking; he knows this. He can see its effects on her body; each morning he counts the stray hairs left on his pillow, mourning the loss of each one.
“Or maybe, we’re meant to be together no matter the odds that get stacked against us,” he offers. He can’t imagine a life without her in it.
She is silent as she ponders his words. Leave it to Bill to find the hope in all their despair.
“Would you like for me to locate guest quarters?” he asks, finally. He’s not sure how he’ll react if she answers in the affirmative.
“No Bill, that’s not necessary,” she sighs. He thinks he hears disappointment in her tone; at who she is disappointed in, he is not sure.
Later in the evening, as she sleeps, he lays awake next to her. She turns away from him and he notices the strands of hair that cling to the pillow.
He’s afraid to wrap his arms around her after their conversation tonight. Instead, he caresses the pillow, counting each strand over and over again until he finally succumbs to slumber.
The next day Lee outs her cancer on the witness stand.
He comes home that night to cleared out drawers, an empty bed; a shell of the home he once had.
***
It takes only a few weeks to coax her back into his quarters. It’s not permanent; a fact which she is all too good at reminding him about, but it’s a compromise and Bill will take as many of those as he can get these days.
They become better at reading one another’s moods, at gauging when to push and when to let it be. He’s learned never, under any circumstances, to ask how she is feeling. She’s trying to learn not to question his decisions when it comes to his family.
There are days when they both fail miserably.
She wakes him this morning with her mouth on him; the sensation is one that he has been mourning for far too long.
“I don’t think we’re up to this,” he pants as she writhes against him, her hand now around him and her bare center grinding against his hip. They haven’t made love in months, not since before she was diagnosed with cancer again. He’s missed this with her, but he knows that her body won’t be able to respond properly.
“Laura, please…” He lightly touches her shoulder but she takes no notice. He grabs her hand and stills her movements.
“Don’t you want this?” she asks him, hurt and confusion evident in her tone.
“More than you could imagine,” he answers honestly. “But you’re not up to it, not yet.” To prove his point, he tenderly caresses her, noting that she is still completely dry.
She rolls off and away from him, mortified by their situation. He follows her closely, wrapping her sobbing frame in his embrace.
“I don’t know my body anymore,” she whispers frantically. “I feel like it’s betraying me more and more each day.”
He chants his love over and over again to her, as she cries herself into a state of exhaustion.
There are no more strands of hair on their pillow to count. Now, he traces the pronounced outline of her ribcage, and counts the bruises and needle marks on her skin.
***
“I love you,” she half sobs, half whispers the words into the crook of his neck.
“About time,” he says softly. He’s been waiting nearly two years to hear those words said back to him. They feel unnecessary now, and he can’t recall why he ever truly needed to hear them in the first place.
She smiles sweetly as she caresses the side of his face.
As is her habit, she counts the lines around his features, noting the depth and sorrow of them.
“Home,” she sighs contently as he envelops her again in his arms. It’s ironic to both of them that they feel at home in the belly of an enemy ship, lost several thousand light years in uncharted space.
“I’ll take you there, back home,” he promises.
Leaving without her is simply not an option.
Living without her is no longer possible.
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: M
Word Count: 1,286 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
A/N: Written for larsfarm77 's birthday. She wanted something MA rated and angsty set around "The Hub." I failed a bit on the rating, but I hope that you enjoy it nonetheless. Thanks to redrockcan 's beta. I've taken some liberties with the BSG timeline for the sake of my own sanity.
“We’re going to get caught,” he pants as she straddles his hips and practically rips his tanks off of him.
“Do you care?” she counters. Her hair was a mess; tangled from when he had buried his hands in the amber strands, her lips were swollen from the kisses he had been waiting months to share with her.
“Uh…” he mumbles a half-reply as she nibbles along his jaw, her hands were tracing patterns across his chest and neck.
“Less talk, more action Bill,” she chides him.
“Is that a challenge Ms. Roslin?” he counters. His hands secure themselves on her hips.
“It’s an order actually,” she says. She isn’t the president anymore; technically, she can’t give him orders. They both chose to forget that minor detail. She barely has time to grin smugly at him before he flips them so that she is flat on her back, with him on his forearms right above her.
“Hi beautiful,” he offers shyly as he nudges her nose with his.
“You’re such a romantic,” she sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes and yet failing to subside the rumble of laughter bubbling up in her chest.
“I’ve never made love under the stars before,” he confesses into the tantalizing curves of her cleavage. “Always wanted to…”
She gasps as he tongue makes contact with her nipple through the thin fabric of her threadbare bra. “What gave you pause before?” she half moans, half whispers.
He places a chaste kiss right above her heart. “I hadn’t met you yet,” he answers truthfully.
When she falls asleep, Bill cradles her lithe form, resting her head against his heart.
His whispered words of love fill the silence around them; only the stars hear his confession.
He leaves for Galactica the next day.
He does not step foot on this planet ever again.
***
He finds her sitting on a gurney in sickbay, being treated for a few minor cuts and burns. The hallow look in her eyes speak of even deeper wounds, ones that cannot be mended as easily as her marked flesh.
He grips the side of her bed, needing something to ground him; he doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to see anyone, ever.
“Hi,” she says weakly. Her hands are trembling and her eyes are watering. “It’s exceptionally good to see you.”
His response is in the form of a kiss so sweetly innocent it breaks something in her and within moments she’s sobbing, yet laughing at the same time, while clutching the collar of his tunic. He holds her tightly, not yet able to believe that she’s actually alive and making a mess of his uniform.
“When Galactica fell out of the sky, Gods…I thought…don’t you ever do something that dangerous ever again,” she says as she tightens her grip on his tunic.
He doesn’t respond to her plea and she doesn’t push him.
He’s learned by now not to make promises that you can’t keep.
***
“Do you ever think that maybe we aren’t supposed to be together?”
Her question hits him like a ton of bricks. He lowers his report and grants her his full attention.
“What makes you say that?” he asks evenly. It’s the first time that they’ve talked about them since the day of his wedding anniversary.
“The first time we tried this, you were banished from New Caprica and then the Cylons invaded. Now, I’m dying again,” she laughs bitterly, “maybe we’re just not meant to be?”
It’s the doloxin talking; he knows this. He can see its effects on her body; each morning he counts the stray hairs left on his pillow, mourning the loss of each one.
“Or maybe, we’re meant to be together no matter the odds that get stacked against us,” he offers. He can’t imagine a life without her in it.
She is silent as she ponders his words. Leave it to Bill to find the hope in all their despair.
“Would you like for me to locate guest quarters?” he asks, finally. He’s not sure how he’ll react if she answers in the affirmative.
“No Bill, that’s not necessary,” she sighs. He thinks he hears disappointment in her tone; at who she is disappointed in, he is not sure.
Later in the evening, as she sleeps, he lays awake next to her. She turns away from him and he notices the strands of hair that cling to the pillow.
He’s afraid to wrap his arms around her after their conversation tonight. Instead, he caresses the pillow, counting each strand over and over again until he finally succumbs to slumber.
The next day Lee outs her cancer on the witness stand.
He comes home that night to cleared out drawers, an empty bed; a shell of the home he once had.
***
It takes only a few weeks to coax her back into his quarters. It’s not permanent; a fact which she is all too good at reminding him about, but it’s a compromise and Bill will take as many of those as he can get these days.
They become better at reading one another’s moods, at gauging when to push and when to let it be. He’s learned never, under any circumstances, to ask how she is feeling. She’s trying to learn not to question his decisions when it comes to his family.
There are days when they both fail miserably.
She wakes him this morning with her mouth on him; the sensation is one that he has been mourning for far too long.
“I don’t think we’re up to this,” he pants as she writhes against him, her hand now around him and her bare center grinding against his hip. They haven’t made love in months, not since before she was diagnosed with cancer again. He’s missed this with her, but he knows that her body won’t be able to respond properly.
“Laura, please…” He lightly touches her shoulder but she takes no notice. He grabs her hand and stills her movements.
“Don’t you want this?” she asks him, hurt and confusion evident in her tone.
“More than you could imagine,” he answers honestly. “But you’re not up to it, not yet.” To prove his point, he tenderly caresses her, noting that she is still completely dry.
She rolls off and away from him, mortified by their situation. He follows her closely, wrapping her sobbing frame in his embrace.
“I don’t know my body anymore,” she whispers frantically. “I feel like it’s betraying me more and more each day.”
He chants his love over and over again to her, as she cries herself into a state of exhaustion.
There are no more strands of hair on their pillow to count. Now, he traces the pronounced outline of her ribcage, and counts the bruises and needle marks on her skin.
***
“I love you,” she half sobs, half whispers the words into the crook of his neck.
“About time,” he says softly. He’s been waiting nearly two years to hear those words said back to him. They feel unnecessary now, and he can’t recall why he ever truly needed to hear them in the first place.
She smiles sweetly as she caresses the side of his face.
As is her habit, she counts the lines around his features, noting the depth and sorrow of them.
“Home,” she sighs contently as he envelops her again in his arms. It’s ironic to both of them that they feel at home in the belly of an enemy ship, lost several thousand light years in uncharted space.
“I’ll take you there, back home,” he promises.
Leaving without her is simply not an option.
Living without her is no longer possible.